Sharp Edges
by athena14lee
Summary: Neal's adventures as Alanna's squire.
1. Chapter 1: Knight-Mistress

Author's Note: This is my first try at fanfiction, so I would really appreciate any and all feedback on how I do and whether I should continue. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce and I own nothing. I only appreciate the chance to play around in her world for a little while.

* * *

By the time his father came to get him, Nealan of Queenscove had given up on trying to read. For the thousandth time he considered his life choices. He could still run now, he supposed. He would look like a fool for doing it, after all the trouble and fuss he had gone through to make it through the big exams, but he could. He could walk out of here, back to the university, or back to Queenscove. He could take off with the Players and spend the rest of his life serenading beautiful ladies in their husbands' halls (an option that actually didn't sound too bad).

He didn't _have_ to commit to being a squire at the beck and call of a hollering knight-master, he thought at some point, throwing down his book and standing up.

Neal's father Baird, Chief Healer of the Realm and Duke of the ancient house of Queenscove, found the young man pacing a furrow into the floor of his quarters.

"You're dithering worse than Jessa," Baird said crisply. "Relax."

Neal gave his father a withering look.

"I am _not_," he said. "I am highly offended that you can even make such a comparison."

"Of course you are." Baird's face was carefully blank. "You're also going to be late meeting your very distinguished guests, if you don't hurry."

"I was only waiting for you," Neal protested, trotting after his father as Baird set off down the hall. "How is it fair that I'm to blame for your lateness? You wouldn't even tell me what room too go to!" He waved his hands to emphasize his point.

"It's not far," his father said lightly. From his tone, Neal could tell that that was all he was going to get.

They turned several corners. Neal realized that his father was leading him not to the knights' wing as he had expected, but to the royal wing.

"What—" he began. Baird shushed him and stopped in front of a heavy door to their right. He knocked.

The door swung inward to reveal none other than King Jonathan himself.

"Your majesty," Baird said immediately. Swallowing his surprise, Neal echoed his father and bowed. The king opened the door wider for them to come in, bidding them to sit at the chairs gathered around what looked like a sitting room table, for all the papers spread on it. Only when he'd sat did Neal realize that King Jonathan already had another guest, this one as iconic as he was. Only one knight had blazing red hair paired with violet eyes. Neal shot to his feet.

"I thought you don't come to the palace!" he blurted out.

Lady Alanna chuckled.

"I made an exception," she said.

"Lady Alanna of Olau and Pirate's Swoop, I believe you know my son, Squire Nealan of Queenscove," Duke Baird said, rather superfluously.

"Of course," Lady Alanna said immediately. "Nealan, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"It's Neal," he said, before he could stop himself. Lady Alanna's lips twitched.

"Neal. I will remember that."

Sometimes his brain worked too quickly for its own good, he thought—as it did now. Everything was clear to him in a second.

"No," he said. "No, I can't. I couldn't."

Duke Baird buried his face in his hands; the king's lips twitched. Lady Alanna, with admirable dignity, raised her eyebrows.

"How can you refuse when you haven't even heard what I have to say?"

"It's obvious what you're about to say!" he spluttered. He gestured to Jonathan. "His majesty's already got a squire. And Father wouldn't drag me before the king if he just wanted me to squire for him. You're the only other knight here. My lady," he added, rather belatedly.

Alanna grinned ruefully.

"So much for my speech, eh?" she said. "Well, squire? Would you like to have me for your knight-master?"

Oh, but it was so tempting. He could still remember watching her spar in the courts with the other warriors. She was glory with a blade; the pride of the kingdom, even though half of Tortall refused to admit it. She was smart, and she was a healer, and she wouldn't just pummel him black and blue like most other knights would. If there was anyone who could teach him to be a knight worthy of a Queenscove shield, worthy to follow Graeme, it was her.

But serving Alanna herself—that wasn't Neal's dream. It was his best friend's.

"I can't," he managed. He faced Lady Alanna. "Kel—she should be your squire. It's always been her dream to serve with you. I can't just—"

"Neal, you already know why that can't happen," the king said, not unkindly. "If Squire Keladry earns her shield under Lady Alanna's tutelage, people will question it."

Neal muttered a suggestion about where people could stick their questions.

"Neal!" Duke Baird hissed, shocked. Lady Alanna's hand flew to her cover her mouth. Next to her the king did the same; his shoulders shook.

"I think," Jonathan said, once he had taken a moment to master himself, "you really must take him now, Alanna. He is clearly the perfect squire for you."

"I'm not," Neal said flatly. "_Kel_ is. She's anybody's perfect squire, you can ask any of our year-mates, they'll say the same thing." He looked at Alanna pleadingly, willing her to understand. "Please. She's my best friend. I couldn't do that to her."

The lady knight sighed.

"I understand, Neal, I do," she said.

"So…you'll take her," Neal said slowly.

"I can't," Alanna replied. "If I did, it wouldn't matter how skilled she is or becomes; the conservatives will insist that she was spelled."

He gaped. "Since when did you care what _conservatives_ say?"

"I _don't_ care what they say about _me_," she replied, crossing her arms. She shot a glance at the king. "But that doesn't mean I'll jeopardize Keladry's career just to prove the point. Don't worry about Kel. She's getting a very good offer, too, I assure you."

"Lady Alanna can teach you to heal, son," Baird said. "You know you always wished you had more training. She can help you there."

"I know you left the university because you thought you had to choose between knighthood and magic," the lady knight said. "But you don't. I'm proof of that, and I can teach you."

Oh, but it was too clever. Kel would have admired their tactics. But then again, Kel would probably have just said he should have had better sense than to tell everyone his weak points. They had him at healing, gods all bless.

He heaved a sigh. His father rolled his eyes, turning the movement into a ducal gesture. Alanna and the king looked at Neal expectantly.

"I'll do it," Neal said heavily.

Whoever was taking on Kel had better be the best knight in the country.


	2. Chapter 2: Adjustments

Author's Note: Some dialogue shamelessly borrowed from the first chapter of _Squire_. Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: There is only one Tamora Pierce and I am not she; therefore I own nothing.

* * *

"Last chance to run," Lady Alanna said, pausing before the stable doorway, a wicked-looking grin dancing across her face.

Neal scowled at his new knight-mistress.

"I am of the humble opinion that my lady is enjoying this far too much," he opined.

"I do try to enjoy things," she replied. "There is far too much sadness in the world for us not to take enjoyment where we can." She poked Neal, who yelped. "I mean that," she added, becoming serious. "Riding with me, you will see a lot of unpleasantness, Neal. We go where the Crown requires us. That means hard work—a lot of traveling, a lot of sleeping outdoors under all kinds of weather, a lot of miserable villages in the middle of nowhere. If you don't think you're ready for that, you had better speak now."

What did she take him for, some soft-palmed flighty noble? As though she could read his mind, Lady Alanna raised her eyebrows. Neal realized that that was probably _exactly_ what she thought. The last time they had spoken, he had still been at the university and liable to do as mages did, jumping from one interest to the next without pause. She hadn't known him during his page years. He would just have to prove to her that he had changed. He had stuck it out all four page years; he could take four years of squiredom.

"I am ready, my lady," he said, trying for an inoffensive expression. Lady Alanna's lips twitched.

"Come, then. I want you to meet someone." She led him into the knights' stables, pausing to greet her own mount, the stallion Darkmoon. Lady Alanna introduced Neal to the stallion, who lipped the squire playfully. She also showed Neal the stallion's tack, explaining how he would be expected care for the horse if they had to ride in a hurry.

"I care for him when I can—I like to," she said. "But circumstances in our line of work don't always follow what we like." Neal nodded to show he understood.

"Good. Next thing." She moved on to the next stall, drawing a lump of sugar from her pocket as she went. She shoved it into Neal's hand. "This is Mage Whisper," she said. "A younger sibling of Darkmoon's. Go on, take a look."

Neal slipped into the stall and inspected the horse that awaited him there. She was a silky copper mare, elegant and clear-eyed, placid-looking. Neal offered her the lump of sugar. She took it and crunched slowly, eyeing him with interest. Finally she seemed to decide that she liked him; she leaned forward and puffed at him.

"What do you think?" Lady Alanna said. Neal turned to her.

"She's beautiful, my lady," he said.

"As your knight-master, I give her to you, as is my obligation." Lady Alanna recited the time-honored words.

"As your squire, I am grateful." Neal couldn't help it; four years with the hooligans he called year-mates had taught him to buck tradition. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Mage Whisper, though?"

His knight-mistress shrugged. "My son Thom called her that once, and now she answers to it. You can name her something else, if you like. Next question."

"Does she like to roll in the mud?"

The lady knight rolled her eyes.

"I should know," Neal protested. "If I'm going to be currying her forever and ever, I should be warned about that kind of thing!"

"Tell me, Queenscove. Were you this gabby when you were under Wyldon?"

"Oh, much more, sir," he replied immediately. "Madam," he amended. Lady Alanna scowled. "Um…Lady Knight?" he ventured. The black look she gave him told him it was the wrong title. "Lioness? Your worship?"

She glared.

"Finish the damned introduction," she told him. "Report to me after lunch. You may take your meat wherever you will."

"Yes, your worship. Thank you, your worship." Neal bowed meekly. Lady Alanna huffed, turned on her heel, and stalked off.

Neal blew into Mage Whisper's nostrils and idly finger-combed the mare's mane.

"Well," he said. "I'm sure you and I, at least, will get along just fine."

* * *

He went looking for Kel right before lunch. He was relieved to see her door open and her inside. She looked up as he entered, smiling, and suddenly Neal realized the magnitude of the news he was about to drop on her.

"Sit down," he told her, adding, "Please."

She sat. All at once, the story came pouring out of him. Kel listened silently, almost stonily, a full-fledged Yamani blankness settling across her features. Neal wished she would show something, for once. But he knew she wouldn't, so he prattled on, trying to fill the silence.

"Kel, please…" His voice petered off as he took in the room for the first time. Kel's trunk was open; clothes and belongings lay in piles on her bed and floor. "Kel, you're packing. Why are you packing?" He felt a trickle of panic. "You're not—leaving?" Was she not getting an offer after all? But even then, Neal thought, she wouldn't give up. Not Kel. Not after everything she had weathered. Something terrible must have happened to drive Kel to leave.

Kel was shaking her head.

"Lord Raoul asked me to be his squire," she said.

It was Neal's turn to need a seat. He fumbled for the nearest chair and sank into it.

"I'll be switched," he said. So Lady Alanna was right—it _was_ a good offer. Better and better, the more he thought about it. He whistled. "This is very good. I love it. Not even the conservatives will question your right to a shield if he's your master. He may be a progressive, but he's still the most respected knight in Tortall. Even the ones who claim you're magicked to succeed will have to shut up."

"What do you mean?" Kel demanded.

"You'll be in public view most of the time," Neal said. As he explained, he made a mental note to have a little more faith in his new knight-mistress. Perhaps, despite her claims to the contrary, she knew what she was doing politically after all.

"So you think this is good," Kel said again.

Was she kidding? "I'm _envious_," Neal informed her. "Lord Raoul's got to be the most easygoing man alive. My new knight-mistress is famed for wielding sharp edges—sword, knife, and tongue."

"You'll just have to get on with her," she said. Neal suppressed the urge to laugh. Even if he became Arlus the Amiable himself (he wouldn't), he doubted Lady Alanna would just get on with _him_.

"She and Father are friends, so she _probably_ won't kill me," he quipped instead. "Now. Why are you packing, if you have such a wonderful knight-master?"

"I have to be ready to go with him at any time," she explained. "My room's next to his. I don't even know how often I'll be in the palace—he's on the road all year."

"We'll see each other during progress," Neal reassured her. Only when he had spoken did he realize that might have been the wrong thing to say. "Unless—maybe you won't," he amended awkwardly. "I mean…I know you wanted Lady Alanna."

"Not see you, when you won't eat vegetables if I don't nag you?" she said. "I'll bet Lady Alanna—" She looked away. "I'll be she doesn't care what she eats, let alone what her squire does."

The tight sound of her voice made Neal's insides twist. It wasn't right. Gossips and snipes shouldn't have the power to force apart two of the most talented, chivalrous warriors in the kingdom. And yet they did, and they had. And they probably didn't even realize it, the dunderheads; that was the worst part of it.

The female sparrow Crown on Kel's head cheeped. The girl reached up and petted the bird absently.

"I should send Crown to peck you as a reminder," she said. She gave Neal a watery smile, inviting him to laugh at her small sally. That was his decision made for him, then. If Kel wanted to put the best face on the situation, it wasn't his place to deny her that. He grinned shakily back.

"As though these feather dusters would be separated from you," he retorted.

"I hope they can. I doubt even Lord Raoul will welcome fifty-odd sparrows."

He shifted in his chair. "I bet he and Lady Alanna planned this," he said. "They're friends, and she did say you were looked after. And she has to know what people would say if she took you—"

"That maybe I was right to look up to her all these years? That if anyone can teach me how to be a lady knight, it's her?" Kel cut across him. Neal flinched at the bitterness in her voice. Congratulations, Queenscove, he thought. You've successfully prattled your way into hurting your best friend. Repeatedly. Perhaps Duke Baird was right, and it would be best for all concerned if Neal just stuck his boot into his mouth and left it there.

"You _are_ angry," he said instead. Kel seemed to sag.

"Not with you," she said with a sigh. "To tell you the truth, I don't know what I feel. First I was about as low as I could be—Neal, I had a vision." She described her experience in the Chapel of the Ordeal. Her words sent chills running down Neal's spine. He remembered his own visit there. He hadn't had the gumption to touch the door; perhaps that was because he could feel the magic hanging low and thick in the air, coating every surface and wall, layers upon layers of the dust of eons. It had been ancient and unnerving, even for him, a scholar who drew pleasure from exploring such things. He couldn't imagine how scary it must seem to practical, down-to-earth Kel.

"Here's some advice," he said, sitting up straight. "Don't touch that door again. The Chamber is a law unto itself, Kel. It's killed squires, driven them mad—"

"And left plenty to become knights," she finished firmly. "As it will us."

"I hope you're right," he said, but his remark was more out of principle than anything. Kel normally was.


	3. Chapter 3: Comrades

Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce was writing way before I was born. I'm just the kid playing in her backyard. I relish everything and own nothing.

* * *

In his dream, Neal was inexplicably twelve again, curled up in his favorite hiding place in the library. Outside the slip window that gave him just enough light to read, rain pounded the rooftops of Queenscove Keep—the first of the yearly torrent of spring storms.

The slim glass pane was cold against his cheek, but the rest of Neal felt cozy. He liked the sound of the rain; it was calming, the perfect accompaniment to a warm library and a favorite book.

Which was suddenly snatched from his arms.

"Hey!" Neal pivoted and fell off his seat with a thump. He glared at the brigand who had stolen his book. Said brigand, a big, looming young man with Neal's nose and eyes, grinned.

"I had to get your attention somehow," he said. "Otherwise I wouldn't see hide nor tail of you my whole time here."

"Well, now you've seen me," Neal snapped. "So give it back!" He lunged at the book bandit, who dodged the younger boy nimbly, holding his prize aloft. Neal jumped again—

—and suddenly found his nineteen-year-old self dangling by the ankle, toes brushing the patch of ceiling over his bed.

"What the—!"

"You were sleeping like a brick, Queenscove." Lady Alanna's eyes sparkled, belying the innocent blankness of the rest of her face. "Trust me, I tried everything else."

"How did you even get in here?!" Neal growled and kicked the air, trying to free himself from the invisible bonds gripping his ankle.

"Good question," the lady knight said. "Next question."

"What do you want?"

She finally seemed to notice that he was awake and snapped her fingers. Neal crashed in a heap onto his bed. He rubbed a bump on his head and glared at his still-new knight-mistress.

"I regret this already," he muttered.

"I doubt you'll make me regret it before long," she fired back. "But so long as we're stuck with each other, Queenscove, you're keeping my hours. Which started two hours ago, for your information."

Out his window, he could see the earliest splinters of dawn cracking between palace rooftops. Neal groaned and sat up. "I had hoped you weren't one of those infernal morning people," he said.

"I'm not," she said dryly. "But in _my_ line of work, you don't fit in enough practice unless you get up before dawn. So. Up, unless you want me to _get _you up, again."

"As pleases my lady," he grumbled, rolling out.

"Get changed," Lady Alanna ordered. "I want to see you down in the knights' practice courts in ten minutes. Do you remember where that is, or would my lord Queenscove prefer a map?" She smirked as Neal scowled. "Good to know you're not dead, squire," she said. "Although you might be if you're late to practice." She then swept out.

Neal glared at the door out of which she had departed. His rational side made a mental note to figure out where the Lioness had learned to pick locks.

* * *

Fear for the Lioness's reputation both as an oath-keeper and as one of the kingdom's premier warriors had Neal scrambling into the practice courts well on time, dressed and somewhat prepared for a walloping.

"Good to know Cavall beat some punctuality into you, even if he isn't good for much else," Lady Alanna said, walking up, a practice sword in hand. "Warm up."

As Neal did so—touching his toes, stretching, rotating joints, running in place—Lady Alanna introduced the other men who were emerging from the palace into the yard. Some names were unfamiliar. Others Neal recognized, like Sacherell of Wellam and Geoffrey of Meron, both well-known knights of Lady Alanna's generation.

"—and Sir Gareth of Naxen," Lady Alanna finished, gesturing at a pale, heavyset man who leaned on the fence at the edge of the yard. "He doesn't actually do any training that I know of. He just comes out here to pretend before he goes in to shuffle papers."

"You haven't been at Court for four years," Sir Gareth pointed out. "How would you know whether I trained or not?"

"Considering who I married, I do know," Lady Alanna replied crisply. That shut the Prime Minister up for some reason. Neal, intrigued, waited for his knight-mistress to elaborate. But she didn't, instead looking at him expectantly.

"No Lord Raoul?" Neal asked, sitting up from a series of crunches.

"Raoul trains with the King's Own," Lady Alanna said.

"Besides, they left last night," Sir Gareth added. "Raiders in Haresfield village. He took all of Third Company—and his new squire—out there and they probably won't be back for several weeks."

"Oh," Neal said dully. Kel was gone then—hadn't even said goodbye.

He looked up to find Lady Alanna's violet eyes fixed on him. Again, as easily as she had yesterday, she seemed to read his thoughts.

"You'd better get accustomed to this kind of fast pace," she said. "The times we live in, a knight's life is a mad one."

"Unless you ride a desk, like our Gary," Sir Geoffrey put in cheerfully. Sir Gareth shrugged in reply.

"You know, you field knights are so sure you're having all the fun," he observed. "I'm a kind soul, so I shan't shatter your illusions. Yet." He got off the fence and sauntered back into the palace, whistling.

* * *

By the time practice broke up for breakfast, Neal felt royally (or at least ducally) pounded.

"Stables, at the second bell," Lady Alanna ordered him, tossing her practice sword into the bin in the arms shed. "Let's get an idea of how good you are on horseback."

"Why doesn't she kill me instead," Neal told his friend Merric of Hollyrose, as they set down their breakfast trays in the squires' mess.

"Be careful what you wish for," Merric said. He sounded almost smug. "The way you're carrying on, I bet you'll get your heroic death before two months has passed."

"A copper noble says he doesn't make it through one," said Esmond of Nicoline, sliding into the seat next to Merric. Merric raised his eyebrows at Esmond; the latter took a sip of milk, then shook his head. "On second thought, you did say the Lioness was also teaching you to heal," he told Neal. "So she'll probably just maim you and then force you to heal yourself. Practical training, and all."

For the millionth time, Neal cast his eyes skyward.

"Mithros bless," he said. "What did I ever do to deserve such ruffians for friends?"

* * *

Graeme had conned Neal of out two chess games before he would let the younger boy have back his book. Neal took it back and held it to his chest, casting a baleful look at his oldest brother. Even though he hadn't minded playing and talking with Graeme, who was at least less of a book-snatching brute than Devon was, Neal had a reputation to maintain.

"Are you afraid?" The question bubbled to Neal's lips before he could stop himself. "Of the Ordeal?"

Graeme was silent for a long moment. "Anyone not a fool is," he said finally. "The Chamber…nobody understands how it works, or knows what it'll throw at you. But one way or the other, I'll be glad when it's over, I suppose."

"Me too," Neal said, quietly. Graeme chuckled.

"Will you really?" he asked. "You don't want us to face justice for all the times we've interrupted your reading?"

"I like wreaking my own revenge, thank you," Neal shot back. "I want you both to survive your Ordeals so I can go on tormenting you for years and years." That got a real laugh from Graeme.

"Well, little brother," he said. "I'm glad you, at least, will never have to face the Chamber. I'd hate for anything to take away that wit of yours."

* * *

A/N: I do wonder about Gary, though. According to Tamora Pierce on Mark Reads, "none of the gang realizes that he travels all of the time and ends up in some hot spots…"

Speaking of Mark Reads, if you aren't already following his blogging, I strongly (as in Alanna-with-a-sword-and-a-smile strongly) recommend it.

Okay, so just kidding about the sword. I couldn't lift one of those things to save my life. But seriously. Mark is currently working his way through _Squire_ and everything is gif-worthy reaction faces and general gloriousness. You should totally check him out.

As always, thanks for reading! Please let me know how I'm doing so far!


	4. Chapter 4: Homecoming

Disclaimer: Nope, not Tamora Pierce. *shows empty pockets* I own nothing!

* * *

After a week's worth of torturous practices, each leaving Neal dizzier than the last, Lady Alanna announced that they had been at court too long. Neal's remark that a week seemed like hardly a long time earned him a daggered look from his knight-mistress. Alanna satisfied her thirst for vengeance by forcing Neal to pack and re-pack travel gear for the both of them—repeatedly.

"Knights travel _light_, Queenscove," she snapped, as the afternoon stretched into evening and he had still not managed to meet her standards. "We're working warriors, not ladies."

Neal raised his eyebrows pointedly at the lady knight. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said ruefully. "Point goes to you this time, then."

"I had no idea you were keeping track," Neal drawled. "I'm touched."

"We'll see how touched you are when I keep you repacking through supper," Lady Alanna retorted.

"Ouch."

"Pack light and quick then, and don't make the same mistakes again. Otherwise there will be much more ouch in your future. I don't need to be a seer to know _that_."

Neal didn't have a rejoinder to her pronouncement, so he awarded the point to her for that round.

* * *

The next day they departed the palace, in the company of another knight-and-squire pair, this one even more exalted than they were: Prince Roald and his knight-master, Lord Imrah of Legann. They were leaving the congress for Lord Imrah's home, which lay further south along the coast it shared with Lady Alanna's home of Pirate's Swoop.

The lord and prince were amiable traveling companions. Lord Imrah entertained them all with a few funny stories of his and his squire's exploits these past few years. Later, he rode with Lady Alanna, talking politics most likely, while Neal and Roald rode behind.

"You'll like Pirate's Swoop," Roald said.

"Really?"

"Really," said the Prince. "Remember, Kalasin and I stayed there the time the Carthakis attacked? It's full of interesting people. Especially the baron. If you can mind your tongue most of the time, you'll learn a great deal more than you ever imagined possible." He accompanied this remark with a wry smile, knowing full well that Neal could no more mind his tongue than the sun could mind rising.

"Any last advice?" he asked Roald.

"Yes, one very important thing," the Prince said. He looked Neal squarely in the eyes, to make sure the latter listened. "Beware the twins."

As evening drew on, Lady Alanna and Lord Imrah began talking about where they might stay the night. Neal, who had recognized more and more landmarks as they went, urged his horse forward.

"Lady Alanna, we're close to Queenscove," he said.

"I was aware of that," she said. "However, I am not in the habit of imposing on a lord's hospitality, especially if that lord isn't home—"

"It's my home," Neal said. "And my sister Jessamine is home from the convent right now. If I wanted to see her, and I invited you all along, would that be all right?"

Lady Alanna hesitated. Lord Imrah, however, replied immediately, "Of course we shouldn't keep you from your family, Nealan—if you don't mind me saying so, Alanna."

"That is my decision made, then," said Alanna. "We would be happy to accept your hospitality, Neal."

* * *

Milton, steward of Queenscove and organizer extraordinaire, visibly paled as he saw Roald and Imrah enter the castle foyer behind Neal and Alanna.

"My lords," he said hastily with a bow. "Forgive me. Welcome, please."

"I was getting to that, Milton," Neal grumbled out the corner of his mouth.

"Of course you were, my lord," Milton hissed back. "But next time you bring three of Tortall's premier nobles to our doorstep, kindly scry a message here first, so that I can tell your sister not to go gallivanting around in those ridiculous paints of hers."

"Oh, dear."

"A great many oh, dears," Milton agreed. He cleared his throats. "My lords, if I may—"

"Now I thought I told you to wait for me, Milton," said a very familiar female voice from the top of the stairs. "I've been practicing this forever, and the Daughters will be very upset with me if I can't play a proper hostess at least once while I'm home for the summer."

Slowly, almost dreading what he would see, Neal turned. A teenage girl of about fourteen was descending the stairs. From shoulders down she could have passed for a normal, respectable young lady and daughter of the House of Queenscove, in a simple but elegant brown wool gown. Even the fingerless gloves she wore could be excused, since they were a winter fashion at Court.

Jessa's brown hair, however, had been pulled back into a variety of peculiar braids, all coiled and pinned and knotted into what looked like a hopeless snarl to Neal. Two small braids draped over her shoulders.

Her face was even more peculiar. While Neal had seen women at Court apply face paint, none of them painted their lips black or their eyelids a flaming vermillionwith wings tipped so sharp they could kill a man.

At least it wasn't anything blue today, Neal reassured himself.

"Uhm," he began. "Lady Jessamine of Queenscove, permit me to present His Highness Prince Roald of Conté and his knight-master, Lord Imrah of Legann. And my own knight-master you know, of course—Lady Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau."

He could feel Milton's dull, disapproving gaze on him as he spoke, and he knew he would be finding out later exactly how he had mucked up the introductions.

Lady Alanna, Lord Imrah and the Prince bowed, while Jessamine swept a neat curtsy.

"I am honored to welcome you to our home," she said with far more composure than Neal could have managed.

"The honor is all mine, Lady Jessamine," Lord Imrah replied smoothly.

"Please join me for a little rest and refreshment, in our solar," Jessa continued. She led the party there, where servants were laying out a tray of pastries and tea. Jessa invited all and sundry to sit, which they did. Even Milton sank into a chair, although he kept his distance from what he surely saw as arcane and mighty company. Neal took the seat next to Jessa.

"Today, of all days?" he hissed at his little sister.

"Hush, Nealan," Jessa scolded. "It's not so scandalous—just different. You see?" She nodded toward Roald and Imrah, who were smiling even as they had some sort of whispered debate. "They find it amusing." Pitching her voice so that it carried to the Prince and lord—Neal had to admire the practice it must have taken to achieve that tone—she said, "Well, my lords? Have you any guesses?"

Next to him, Neal had a faint impression of Lady Alanna stuffing her sleeve into her mouth, shaking.

"Queen Anj'la of Maren," said Lord Imrah.

Jessa cocked her head toward the Prince, who flushed and said softly, "Hyppolyta, the warrior queen from Thanic mythology."

"How did you know?" Jessa asked in surprise. "No one ever guesses this look!"

"We have an illustrated book of Thanic tales at Conté," Roald said. "Kally—Princess Kalasin, my sister—used to demand it be read to us all the time."

"I remember your sister very well," said Jessa, crunching a cookie. Covering her full mouth, she continued, "We met at King's Reach, last spring. She was very interesting."

"That's one way of putting it," the Prince muttered.

"Really! She was!" Jessa said. "I don't know about you, Your Highness, but I don't know that many noble girls who are fans of Rhiannon Haycraft—or, if they are, I suppose they keep it to themselves," she amended. "But they shouldn't, I think. Even if the Daughters do discourage us from reading fiction, I happen to think it's a perfectly beneficial pursuit. Fiction broadens the mind, even as our studies do."

"My lady must not forget that what she thinks is not immediately the law of the land," Milton said drily from his corner.

"I, for one, will take your words under advisement, my lady," Roald said gravely.

* * *

The next afternoon, Neal got Lady Alanna's permission to take the evening off. Carafe and cups in hand, he went down to the cemetery, which covered a grassy bluff looking over the sea. There he poured a cup of Devon's favorite wine for each of them.

"Hey," Neal said dully. He listened; the only reply was the rustle of grass and leaves and the murmur of the sea. "So, the Lioness took me for a squire," he said. "If you two were here you'd probably find that all kinds of funny, wouldn't you? I still don't know what possessed me to throw in with her. My tongue, her temper—" He broke off. "She's a healer," he said, trying again. "She's going to teach me how to heal and how to be a knight. I'm trying to be the best I can be, you know? So I can serve the realm to the best of my abilities. Just like a true Queenscove knight."

He listened again to the whispers of the grass. Maybe they were like the spinners in the old tales, carrying the whispers of departed souls.

Maybe, his sarcastic side mused, he would suddenly develop the ability to hear the dead and gain the sponsorship of the Black God. That couldn't be abnormal or unpleasant at all.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," his sister's voice said quietly. Neal looked up. Jessa had cleaned the paint off her face, and her hair hung loose and plain down her back. Without the disguises or the ladylike air, she looked smaller, more like the black-clad little girl who had ridden away to the convent four years ago.

Absently, he patted the ground beside him. Jessa sank down, not caring about the state her skirts would be in.

"Do they think I'm mad, talking to Graeme and Devon as I do?" he asked.

Jessa shook her head.

"I come out here, from time to time," she said. "Mother too, and Aelfred and the other lads who served under them. Even Milton visits, when he thinks no one's looking."

"But you saw him?"

"I see everything, of course," she replied haughtily, sounding more like her normal self. The next moment, though, the grand-lady facade dropped again. Jessa gathered her knees up to her chest. "I miss them too, you know," she said. "But they wouldn't have wanted you to mope every time you come home. You're going to inherit this place someday, so you're just going to have to bring home a girl and make some new memories."

"Practical and opportunistic as always," he grumbled. "Don't tell me you've turned matchmaker."

"Maybe I will, after I'm finished learning to read High Gaulish," she said. "And reading all of Dorfin of Whitehorn's books, and seeing all the Glass Plays in the original Thanic. Maybe then."

Neal and Jessa returned to the inner keep half an hour later, talking and laughing as they climbed the stairs to the residential wing. On the landing Jessa bade him a good night and headed to her own chambers. Neal went to his room, where he changed into his nightclothes and was just settling down with a book when he heard a quiet knock on his door. He opened it to reveal Lady Alanna.

"My lady?" he asked. "Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," she said. "You were down at your brothers' graves for some time."

"I'm fine, my lady," he said, taken aback by the gentleness in her tone. "Or...well...mostly."

"It doesn't get any easier, does it?" she asked. "No matter how many years have gone by."Her violet eyes were haunted. Neal remembered with a jolt that Alanna had lost a brother too, years and years ago in the Coronation Day battle.

"How do you move on, my lady?"

"Part of me, the twin in me, never did," she replied frankly. "But most of me goes on reminding myself of all the people I love still living, my husband and children not the least. And I think of my work, and the people I meet and heal. That helps."

Neal nodded, covering a yawn. It had been a long day.

"Get some sleep," his knight-mistress said. "Are you sure you're all right and ready to travel on?"

"I am, my lady." Lady Alanna searched his face for a long moment. Seeming to find whatever she was looking for, she nodded.

"Pack your bags, then," Lady Alanna said. "We leave for Pirate's Swoop tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: I originally outlined Jessa as a very flighty, happy, Ty Lee-ish character. When it came time to introduce her, however, I was very firmly told, "I am a GEEK, Sophie! Get it RIGHT!" So here you go. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	5. Chapter 5: Pirate's Swoop

A/N: To start off my senior year in high style, here's an eleventh-hour (literally) update! Depending on how things go, there may be longer hiatuses between chapters because of life and classes, but I promise to try my best to make each chapter worth your while. Thank you for all the wonderful feedback you all have been giving me, especially on the last chapter—and no, this isn't the last we'll see of Jessa. I don't think I could keep her from hijacking her brother's story even if I wanted to.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Lionesseyes13, as well as the incredible Zeeblebeeble, for their feedback. In addition to being great editors, they have awesome Tamora Pierce fics of their own, which y'all should totally read.

Disclaimer: I have 99 problems and being Tamora Pierce would solve quite a few (*cough*college tuition*cough). But I am not her, and therefore I own nothing. Enjoy!

* * *

Evening was falling by the time the three towers of Pirate's Swoop came into view.

"Home at last!" Lady Alanna said, smiling.

"Until the next distress call, at least, eh?" said Lord Imrah, grinning.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lady Alanna said loftily. "I am merely grateful for simple pleasures, like my home, children, husband—"

"I can see that you two get along swimmingly," Roald murmured to Neal. "She even sounds like you."

"I'm going to ignore that, if it's all the same to you," Neal told his royal friend with a shudder. "The implications are terrifying."

"Of course," Roald replied, deadpan.

They fell silent as they waited for the gates to swing open. Lady Alanna led the way in, followed by Lord Imrah, the prince, and Neal, bringing up the rear. They rode into a warmly lit courtyard; men-at-arms lining the walls stood to attention. Servants came forward to greet them and take their gear.

"Squire," Lady Alanna said, dismounting. Realizing that she meant him, Neal slid from his horses and came forward, leading Mage Whisper on foot. He bowed slightly for good measure.

"My lady?"

In reply, his knight-mistress held out Darkmoon's reins. "Branson will show you where to stable him," she said, indicating the stable boy who stood near her, who bowed to Neal. "Remember everything he tells you, for future reference."

Neal took the reins.

"Right this way, sir," said Branson, bustling him off before Neal could even decide whether to answer his knight-mistress with a bow or a retort. Grudgingly, he led Darkmoon along—or rather, Darkmoon walked with Branson and tugged Neal along. The stallion seemed to know the way to his home stables just fine. Neal wouldn't be surprised if Darkmoon could curry himself and tend his own tack as well.

"Do you normally care for Darkmoon?" he asked the stable boy, feeling rather superfluous. Behind him, Mage Whisper nudged him, as though in rebuke.

"Sometimes," Branson replied. "Right in here, m'lord." He led Neal into a stable. The first three stalls stood empty. "This is Darkmoon's stall." He indicated the one nearest the door. "Master Thom gave orders to prepare the second stall for your mount, here." He pointed. "Will you be needing help or directions?"

"No, thanks," Neal said absently, leading the horses into their stalls. He took care of Darkmoon first, removing the stallion's tack and arranging it properly. He found currying brushes in a neat little shelf built into the side of the stall and used them to give the stallion a thorough rubdown. Then he worked on Mage Whisper.

When he finished, he looked up and realized that Branson had gone, leaving him alone with the horses. He also realized that he had no idea what happened next.

"I don't suppose you know where your mistress goes at this time of evening," he told Darkmoon. The stallion snorted in reply.

"Figures," Neal said. He checked one last time to be sure that everything was in place. Then, washing his hands, he left the stable and tried to retrace his steps back to the courtyard. Finding it, he tried one of the entrances into the castle proper and found himself in a hallway lit by torches. He started down it, following the sound of conversation echoing along the stone walls and floor, which would hopefully lead him to his knight-mistress. The sounds led him to veer left at the hall's end, down a second hallway, which ended in a round room lined with bookshelves. A handsome mahogany staircase wrapped around the walls, but it didn't look as though any of the doors on _that_ led anywhere he needed to be. He had reached a dead end.

He didn't consider it a total loss, however: any room with books was a worthwhile room to Nealan of Queenscove. He went to the shelf-covered wall nearest him and examined the books displayed therein: books on magic, he noticed with a pleasant jolt, and here were treatises on medical magic, the Sight, magical ethics, potion-making…It couldn't hurt if he took a quick peek, Neal decided, sliding the volume on medical magic off the shelf.

Immediately the book started screaming.

Neal fumbled with it; it fell to the floor, where its caterwauling doubled in volume.

Somewhere overhead, a door slammed.

"By the gods, Alan, what've I told you about messing around in here!" a boy's voice yelled. Soft-shod feet pounded down the spiral stairs. The boy reached the bottom floor landing, where his eyes took in Neal, frantically trying to cram the book back on the shelf. He turned white, and then flushed red as the hair on his head. He reached over and wordlessly took the book from Neal.

"Sorry," Neal said immediately, over the book's continued screaming. "I didn't mean to—I didn't realize it would go off like that—"

The boy shook his head. Neal hoped it was a sign of pardon, instead of a vow of future revenge. The boy stroked the book's spine; it fell silent, and he replaced it on the shelf.

"Was that your spell?" Neal asked, impressed in spite of himself. The boy, a redhead a bit on the gawky side, looked all of thirteen, but he nodded. Neal whistled. "That must have taken some patience," he told his silent rescuer. "I didn't even see it. How did you do it? An illusion? Or did you just spread the magic so thin that it was undetectable? A sub-spell?"

The boy blushed even redder.

"I could show you after supper, if you want," he squeaked.

"Oh. Is that what happens now?" Neal said. "Do you know where Lady Alanna eats? I need to find her." He finally remembered his manners and held out his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm Nealan of Queenscove—Neal. I'm Lady Alanna's new squire," he said.

The boy shook his hand.

"Thom," he said quietly. "Of Pirate's Swoop."

Oh. "Well," Neal said. This was awkward. "I don't suppose you could, uh, not mention that whole incident to your mother?"

A small smile appeared on Thom's face. "I won't," he said.

Shortly after, Neal followed Thom into the small hall, where the Pirate's Swoop family took supper on regular days. Lady Alanna was already there, seated at the table talking to a strawberry-blond boy of about eleven who sat across from her. She looked up as Neal entered.

"Congratulations, squire," she said. "You were almost on time."

"And you are again unfashionably early," he replied on instinct, dropping into the chair she indicated for him, next to her.

"I'm starting to regret bringing you here already," his knight-mistress volleyed back. "I can see that you're only going to corrupt my sons."

"I doubt he'll do anything that Da didn't begin already, Ma," said the younger boy cheerfully, using his foot to pull out the chair next to him for Thom.

"Squire Nealan of Queenscove, my second son, Alan of Pirate's Swoop," the lady knight said, with a quelling look at said son. "I see you have already made the acquaintance of my eldest. My husband and daughter are currently away, but you will also meet them in due time." Neal nodded.

"Da actually had a message scried through a few hours ago," Thom told his mother. "He's on his way back, to arrive tomorrow or early the day after. He's bringing a contact, so we need to have a room prepared."

Lady Alanna didn't reply, instead rising to greet Lord Imrah and Prince Roald, who had just arrived. Her sons shook hands with both prince and lord with grins. Roald took the seat next to Neal, while Imrah took the one across from his squire. Lady Alanna offered a short prayer to the Goddess and Mithros, and then all began to eat.

For a time, Neal was content to focus on his meal while listening to Roald and Thom, who knew each other, exchanging news. Thom, he noticed, was much less shy around those he knew well. It wasn't surprising, then, that he got along very well with the rather withdrawn prince, despite the four-year gap between their ages.

"Are you coming up to Corus anytime soon?" Roald was asking. "We haven't gotten to do a proper stargazing in years."

"Skies are clear tonight, if you want," Thom suggested. The prince shook his head.

"My lord and I are riding on tomorrow," he said, smiling slightly. "I need to get all the sleep I can tonight."

"Midwinter, then?" Thom said. "I'm starting at the university then. Maybe we could fit in some time? I'm sure your father would let us use the Needle if we asked."

"Maybe." Roald looked thoughtful. "It was under repairs when we left Corus, but maybe they'll be done by then." He smiled. "We'll see."

* * *

The next day Roald and Imrah rode on for Legann. After they left, Alanna led Neal down to the castle infirmary, where she introduced him to Maude, an old healer and midwife. Because the infirmary was currently empty, Alanna then led Neal into the storerooms.

"Let's see what you know about equipment," she said. "I'm a Gifted healer. What do I need in a basic kit, the one that will accompany me everywhere?"

This, at least, he remembered. Neal ticked off the items on his fingers.

"Bandages, in all sizes," he said. "Towels or cleaning cloths, whichever are handy, for hygiene. Soap. Herbs."

"Which herbs?" Alanna asked sharply. "You've got limited space, Queenscove, so which ones are the most likely to be used?"

"Willow bark," Neal said. "Cures headaches, muscle pain, arthritis, and helps the healer keep their concentration while they work."

"It also helps women with menstrual cramps," Lady Alanna added. "And you can use it to ease the symptoms of fever or the common cold. Any other herbs?"

"Comfrey, for poultices?" Neal asked.

"Fair enough," his knight-mistress said. "Now, for different conditions. Suppose I'm a field medic—"

She was interrupted by a sudden clamor in the infirmary ward outside. She gestured Neal to go see what it was and followed him out, pulling the storeroom door closed in her wake.

A tall man emerged in the infirmary doorway, carrying a young girl in his arms. Neal recognized him as Lady Alanna's husband, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop. A younger girl—clearly Alan's twin by her face and hair—walked alongside him.

"She's got a sprained ankle, I think," the baron told Alanna, laying his charge down gently on one of the beds. The girl winced as he adjusted her leg. "I'm sorry, lass," the man told her. He looked at Alanna. "Can you take care of her from here?" he asked. "We need her injuries healed as quick as possible. I'll take care of Aly, and look in on the boys—"

"We'll be fine," Lady Alanna said shortly, her eyes flicking over the girl on the bed, reading some sign that was invisible to Neal.

The baron moved around the infirmary bed and pecked Alanna on the cheek.

"It's good to see you," he told her. He nodded to Neal. "Squire Nealan," he said. "Welcome to Pirate's Swoop. I'll see you around, I've no doubt."

With that the baron turned and left, his daughter trotting in his wake.

"Diagnosis, Nealan," Lady Alanna said sharply. Neal turned to the patient; the girl, a scrap of humanity maybe eleven or twelve years old, dirty and red-faced from what looked like hard riding, regarded him apprehensively.

"Excuse me," he told her. Calling up a bit of his magic, he probed the girl's leg. She yelped. "Broken ankle," he told his knight-mistress. "Do you hurt anywhere else?"

In reply, the girl patted her breech-clad legs and muttered, "Saddle sores."

"I'll take care of those," Lady Alanna said quickly. "Nealan—can you set her ankle and mend the break?"

"Yes, my lady," he said. Calling up more of his Gift again, Neal placed his hands gently on the girl's ankle and willed it numb. "Can you feel it?" he asked her. She shook her head. Neal closed his eyes, using his Gift to see the dislocated fracture in her ankle. He tugged, gently; green tendrils nudged the broken pieces of bone back into place. He concentrated. Marrow, bone, and tendon knit back together. Blood vessels glowed green as they realigned and healed.

When he opened his eyes again, the girl's foot lay righted in his hands. Neal wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"We need to work on your efficiency," Lady Alanna told him. Neal blinked.

"What?"

"You put so much of yourself into every healing, you'll overextend when you're in a field hospital," she explained. "You need to use less magic to achieve more. There are tricks to it."

"Which you haven't taught me yet," Neal pointed out.

"Sleep," Alanna ordered their patient. "Do you need a draught?" The girl shook her head. Alanna patted her arm and turned to Neal. "Walk with me, Queenscove," she said. "Yes, there are tricks, but there is also practice. While we're here, I want you in this infirmary, every afternoon on weekdays. When we don't have patients we'll work on the academic part of healing. Weekends we're down in the village. Clear?"

"Yes, my lady."

She looked at him warily, as though expecting a retort. Neal gazed innocently back. Finally Alanna sighed.

"Go to the kitchens and get some food," she told him. "Once you've gotten some strength back, report to the library."

"Yes, my lady." Neal bowed and left, trying not to skip as he went. He was learning healing, at last!

Furnished with a fresh turnover from the kitchen, Neal got directions from the cook to the library, a beautiful and well-lit room at the heart of the keep. Lady Alanna was not there yet, so Neal had a look around, taking care not to touch the books lest they, too, might start screaming.

As he passed one of the doorways leading off the library, he heard Alanna's voice.

"I can't believe you're doing this." Neal froze. His knight-mistress's words radiated a sort of cold fury he had never heard before. "You wouldn't ask something like this of our daughter. What gives you the right to ask it of someone else's?"

"You think I'd take on a case like this if she had parents left?" the baron asked evenly.

"She's a _child_, George."

"Believe you me, lass, she isn't, after what she's seen. And if it rests your mind, we're only training her as of yet. And then we'll be putting her into place. She'll not be called on for some years yet."

"A sleeper agent—where, this time?"

Neal heard a sigh. "You know I can't tell you that, lass." The baron's voice got louder. "Nor you, Squire Nealan. So why don't you step in here where we can talk to you properly."

* * *

A/N: And just when you thought we were going about our business….plot! XD

Balor's Needle, of course, is under repairs because Kel reported the rusted stairs and now good king Jon has workmen going over every inch of the place for safety hazards.

On Lady Alanna's eldest son, thus saith Tamora Pierce: _"As for Thom, there's no reason whatever to think he'd be like his uncle. Thom Cooper is bookish through love of books; Thom of Trebond was searching for secrets and power. Thom Cooper loves his younger sibs and kept an eye on them as long as he could, His greatest wish is to serve the crown, like his parents. He's really a sweet kid, once you get his attention. He loves animals, and if you want a babysitter, he's your guy. Even the crankiest babies quiet down for him. (Some of the other mage students at the university are married and have kids.) _

"_His biggest flaw, and the one that stands between him and royal service, is that he's not quick on his feet as a mage. He can cast perfect spells, given time and materials, but if he has to think something up in a hurry, based on only things at hand, he tends to freeze…_

"_Actually, mostly Thom's a school nerd, like Tim said. He takes more after Alanna's father than her brother. But you'd like him, once you got to know him (he's shy, but sweet). The way to get his attention is to talk magic intelligently. He also does the student thing, goes around the taverns with his buds arguing important philosophical issues."_

I intend to have fun with this characterization. Thank you again for reading!


	6. Chapter 6: Intelligence

A/N: I'm so sorry that this has taken so long. Senior year has been...ah...hectic. But hopefully, Chapter 6 being the whopper it is, it is worth your while.

Disclaimer: When I (A) master the brewing of Polyjuice Potion and (B) procure Tamora Pierce's DNA, I'll let you know. Until then, I own nothing.

* * *

Slowly, Neal placed a hand on the door and pushed it ajar. There was the baron, leaning against a large, paper-strewn desk in what was clearly his study; there was Alanna, facing her husband, arms crossed, feet apart in a rigid stance. The baron's weatherworn face was settled in a mild expression as he looked at Neal, an impressive feat considering the storm clouds gathering on the Lioness's face.

Alanna glanced at Neal as he came in.

"I should have known," she said, rather frostily. "In a house full of eavesdroppers, of course I just bring home one more."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Neal said immediately, trying for an innocent expression. For some reason, this startled a chuckle from the baron. Alanna shot her husband a dark look. Baron George raised his hands in reply.

"You have to admit he fits in here," he said. "The only thing left to do would be to train him to hold up under interrogation. Then he would be a true member of the household."

"_George_," the Lioness growled. "Honestly? First the girl and now my squire? How can you make light of these things?"

"I am not making light, Alanna," the baron said, serious now. "But the realm uses the tools that the gods give it, and the girl is no exception."

"So that's what she is," Alanna said flatly. "A tool. Did it occur to you that the _point_ of the realm is to protect its children? You know, with them being the future and all?"

"And I would argue," the baron replied, "that she volunteered for this work, and that her choice to become a tool of the realm—at twelve, mind you—is just as valid as the choice you made at _ten_." Alanna flushed and began a heated reply.

They had clearly forgotten all about Neal's presence. Maybe he could edge slowly out of the room and the couple would forget the day's events. Probably not, considering that said couple was the King's Champion and her husband. At least the information Neal had overheard was interesting. It confirmed a theory he'd had for years about the Lioness's mysterious husband.

Just as he reached the doorway, however, it hummed with sudden purple fire.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Queenscove." Surprisingly, it was the baron who spoke. Neal turned around to see the baron looking at him sternly. Alanna stood next to him, spinning a small ball of purple fire in her hand—ready, Neal surmised, in case her squire tried to make a break for it. He gulped.

"Of course you weren't, my lord baron," he said. It seemed like a safe remark.

"So how do you expect me to not notice you slipping away?" the baron asked. "Moreover, how do you expect me to allow you to do so?"

"I…don't," Neal said, slowly, carefully (for once). "I felt that…" A thought occurred to him. "I felt that I was…I was encroaching on a sensitive discussion and, ah, I wanted to leave you to it. I'm sure that these are all Crown secrets, and I'm just a lowly squire, after all. I wouldn't want to jeopardize any of your delicate work."

Alanna snorted. Baron George, however, narrowed his eyes.

"Delicate work?" he asked. "Exactly what work do you think I do?"

It was Neal's turn to snort. "My lord baron, you're obviously involved in royal intelligence," he said.

"Obvious, is it?" Baron George's mouth twitched. "How so?"

"Well, Sir Myles is the King's spymaster, and hearing so much about the two of you from Father, I figured you both would be involved in some way," Neal said, shrugging. The baron raised his eyebrows.

"And how many others did you share your figuring with?" he asked lightly.

"None," Neal said. Belatedly he added, "Sir."

"And why not share such a tantalizing bit of information?" The baron's voice remained even in the most frightening way possible. Once again Neal cast back on his life choices and wondered why he hadn't picked a nice, normal, easygoing knight-master instead of all this grand and terrible intrigue.

"I—well, I'm not stupid, my lord baron," he said. "I mean—no offense intended—"

"Too late," Alanna muttered.

"—I mean, anything like that would be sensitive, wouldn't it?" Neal was positively babbling now that both the Lioness and the baron had stony eyes trained on him. "I know better than to just run around gossiping about things I shouldn't know for all and sundry to hear!"

"Do you, now?" Now the baron eyed him curiously. "Have you an interest in that kind of work, then? I know you've a good memory, aptitude for reading and noticing things—"

"You are _not_ recruiting my squire, George." Lady Alanna glared at her husband.

"Not yet, anyway," the baron said. "But then, we've four years before us, so there's no rush." He winked at Neal; Lady Alanna scowled.

"Don't think you've gotten away with any of this," she told her husband sternly. "I _still _don't like what you're doing, even if it's for the good of the realm—" George set a finger to her lips, and she quieted.

"Delicate matters, lass," he said, seriously this time. "The less said of work, the better, I think."

Alanna sighed.

"If you must," she said. She turned sharply to face Neal and steered him from the study. "Let's go. Book learning it is, for now."

They spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing anatomy. Neal already knew a great deal, anatomy being a compulsory course in the first year at the university. He felt fairly pleased that he remembered most of the material, considering that four years of brutal page training had passed since he had seriously studied the human body, but Alanna warned him not to get cocky.

"This is all theoretical," she reminded him. "It's whether you can remember in the field that matters."

"I do remember in the field," Neal said. "Four years in the pages' wing, remember? Little children running around waving sticks trying to crack each others' skulls?"

"I do remember," his knight-mistress said, rather ruefully. "So is that what you spent your page years doing? Healing boys so that they could survive Lord Pain-Builds-Character?"

"I think I healed Kel the most, actually."

"Of course. Her war on hazing—of course she would get into the most fights."

"How did you hear about that?" Neal asked sharply. Certainly, he expected people to know that Kel and her circle of friends got into many fights, especially during those first two hellish years. Far fewer, however, understood exactly why those fights had taken place. Last he checked Neal was certain that Alanna was not among those few.

The Lioness blinked, then said, "Neal, I would have thought that after living at the palace half your life you would understand that everyone hears everything, eventually."

"True…"

"If you're done being suspicious, let's get back to work," Alanna said. "We have more to review before dinner."

* * *

Cleaned up and headed down to the small hall for supper, Neal made a wrong turn and promptly lost himself again. As he tried to navigate back to a landmark, he wondered whether, being the man he was, the baron had intentionally built Pirate's Swoop's hallways into such a twisting labyrinth. Perhaps it was just another layer in what Prince Roald had once described as a royal armory's worth of defenses built into the very stone of the coastal keep.

Neal spotted a girl leaning on a doorframe ahead and hurried up to her.

"Excuse me," he called. "I was wondering if you could—" He broke off as the girl turned and he found himself looking at his patient from the infirmary. She had cleaned up and was dressed in better clothes, with her pale blond hair combed and braided. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "You should be sleeping!"

"I feel better, sir, honest," the girl said. As if to prove it, she stood on tiptoe, then lowered herself. "See? Don't hurt at all." She spoke with a strange lilt, but Neal couldn't place where it came from.

"How did Maude let you past?" Neal asked sharply.

"Is Maude the old mum?" the girl asked.

"That's her," he said. "She's a healer and she knows you're not to tire yourself—"

"Begging m'lord's pardon but she had to follow Lady Aly's orders," the girl said. "And Lady Aly says not much time, so I have to go with her." She shrugged. "Did you need help getting somewhere, m'lord?"

"The small hall, yes," Neal said. The girl gave him a series of rapid-volley directions. "Um," he said, trying to remember it all. "Thank you." He remembered his manners and held out his hand. "I'm the Lioness's squire, Neal," he said.

"Inga," the girl replied, cautiously taking his hand and shaking it.

"Ready, Inga!" a girl's voice called from within the room. A strawberry-blonde head poked out into the hall. Green-hazel eyes narrowed when they saw Inga talking to Neal. "If you can concentrate well enough to talk to someone, you'd better get every single one right this time," Alianne of Pirate's Swoop said, imperious tone matching her mother's note for note. Inga paled.

"I'm sorry, m'lady," she stammered. "I'm—sorry. Milord." She bobbed a little curtsy to Neal and scuttled inside the room.

"What are you doing in there?" Neal demanded. "What's so important that you had to drag her out of the infirmary?" He made to enter the room, but Alianne stepped squarely in his way, barring the doorway. She glared up at him with all the ire a girl of eleven could manage.

"Stop right there, squire," she said. "I haven't a moment to waste as it is, and she's already having a hard enough time learning without distractions."

"Learning _what_?"

"Memory exercise," Alianne said. She flashed him a sudden smirk. "If you'd said yes to Da, maybe you'd know more." And then she spun, light as a pixie, and shut the door in his face.

* * *

Neal's days at Pirate's Swoop fell into a routine. At the crack of dawn, he rose for weapons practice. As the Champion, the Lioness kept a large and well-furnished practice court; there, Neal practiced with his knight-mistress, the fief's men-at-arms, the baron, and even the Pirate's Swoop children, all of whom (of course) were well trained.

After breakfast, he and Alanna went riding. They practiced fighting on horseback, and gathered herbs and remedies from the nearby woods. Sometimes they tilted, or hunted. They rode back to the keep for lunch, after which Lady Alanna instructed Neal in healing, in the infirmary. Some days, there were patients to treat—people came in with cuts and bruises and broken bones from fieldwork. Some days, when the infirmary was empty, they catalogued the storerooms and Lady Alanna taught Neal about herbs, potions, and the making of splints, slings, and casts.

Mid-afternoons, they went to the library, where Neal studied anatomy, or history, or mathematics, or whatever Alanna decided he was lacking in on that day. Sometimes they were joined by Alan, Alianne and their tutor, a Mithran master named Igon; sometimes Thom came in for a book and a chat with his mother.

Neal was pleasantly surprised to find that the Lioness was extremely well-read. Perhaps he should not have been, given Alanna's father was the famously bookish Sir Myles of Olau. But Alanna's reputation as a warrior and mage so eclipsed all other facts known about her that it always jolted him to hear her discussing a variety of topics with her children and retainers, adroitly conversing on everything from the history of the Bazhir to Tyran food to the intricacies of Tortallan law.

"When Jon made me the King's Champion, and so a high-ranking diplomatic figure," she explained to Neal, "I _had _to become knowledgeable. Before my first diplomatic trip, I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to hold my own and do the realm's work, so I spent ages reading up on—oh, everything—in Myles's library." She smiled at the memory. "I just ended up liking it more than I'd thought."

After book learning came supper, and then a brief session of unarmed combat practice. The hours after practice were Neal's own. Sometimes he stayed up reading or climbed up to the ramparts to listen to the comforting murmur of the sea. Most nights, however, the exhaustion of the day got to him, and he was content to curl up in his bed and sleep.

One afternoon about two weeks after they arrived at Pirate's Swoop, Lady Alanna found Neal curled up in the reading nook he had discovered and unofficially claimed.

"Philosophy?" Alanna raised her eyebrows.

"Let me guess. You don't like it either, do you, my lady?" Neal knew he ought to be used to this attitude by now. But was it really so much to hope for a fighting knight who believed in exploring the higher planes of thought?

Lady Alanna shook her head.

"It's impractical in our line of work," she said. "Knights and healers both are people of action, Neal. Our use lies in being able to assess a situation and react quickly—to do otherwise costs lives."

"Funny," Neal remarked before he could stop himself. "That sounds like something Lord Wyldon would say."

"Insults are the last resort of a man with no argument, Queenscove," Lady Alanna growled. "My point stands. If you disagree, argue it, instead of comparing me to _that_ man."

"I didn't mean it as offense," Neal said, a little stung.

"Offense taken nonetheless," Alanna replied immediately, although she looked a little calmer. She sat down on the window seat next to him. Neal scooted over to give her more room. "So. Enlighten me, Queenscove. Why read philosophy? Did Lord Wyldon force it on you? It's a traditional subject, after all. _I _had to learn from an utter bore of a philosophy teacher."

"No," Neal said. "I read it because I think it's interesting, thinking about morality outside of the gods' teachings. And thinking about humanity, and our nature. Haven't you ever wondered what people might be capable of if we didn't have the gods watching us?"

Lady Alanna shuddered.

"I hope never to find out," she said.

"But that's the thing," Neal said excitedly. "Maybe we'll never find out, but thinking about extreme situations makes us question how we act in daily life. How do we make decisions? Is it right to put the good of one person over the greater good—suppose if we had to make the decision on our own, without the gods guiding us. What then?"

"Too often, Queenscove, you'll find that you _do_ have to make those hard choices," Lady Alanna replied. "You'll have to choose between the good of a few people and the good of the realm. No amount of your ivory-tower philosophy can prepare you for _that_." Neal started. Was that _bitterness_?

"You _are_ still angry about the whole business with Inga, aren't you?" Neal said.

"I dedicated my life to the realm so that children like her wouldn't have to make the kind of choices she made." The Champion's voice was sardonic. "I swore to protect those weaker than me. To not ignore a cry for help. To not look away from wrongdoing." Her lips twisted as she recited the ancient words.

"But you also have to uphold the realm, don't you?" Neal said quietly. "And Inga's case is the realm's business. I can see why the baron would pick someone—young. Nobody suspects children."

"_Can_ you see?" she said. "Then maybe you're smarter than I am." She got to her feet and tugged her belt and tunic straight. "To answer your philosophy question: in my experience, there is a different answer for each situation. And you'll only find _those_ in the field." She turned to leave, then turned back. "By the way, Neal," she said. "A letter arrived for you. I had them leave it in your room. You may take until dinner to answer it."

"Thank you, my lady."

Neal sat back, thinking. Lady Alanna had a temper, and she wore her heart on her sleeve, but that didn't keep her from being obscured by myth much of the time. Neal felt that with this conversation, he had pulled the veil aside, if only for a moment. Alanna was, really, a woman of simplicity: give her codes—magical ethics, medical ethics, chivalry—and she could keep them. Give her problems, and she could solve them. She wasn't like Neal, who loved complexities for their own sake, who liked puzzles and mind games that were harder to disentangle because the feeling of wisdom gained was worth the headache.

Perhaps it was just as well, he thought, getting up and returning his books to their shelves. The realm, after all, needed all sorts of people: knights who kept to the straight and narrow right alongside scholars who tied themselves in knots.

* * *

The letter lay on his desk by the window. Neal picked it up and had to grin when he saw the handwriting: a firm, flowing hand, refined over years of writing military reports. He broke the plain seal and began to read.

_Neal:_

_You'll probably regret to hear that I'm still alive and well. Exuberant, in fact, since we just finished rounding up a group of human and centaur bandits in the Royal Forest and now it's back to the normal fun of Own life. _

_My lord's new squire, your friend Kel, is really something. She took on a centaur toward the end of the whole bandit-hunting business and killed him using her Yamani pole arm; even Captain Flyn was impressed, for all he tried to hide it. She also took charge of a griffin the centaur had stolen, and I don't know who to feel sorrier for: her, because he's a pesky crosspatch at the best of times, or him, because he doesn't know how dangerous an angry squire can be. At any rate, it's frankly unnerving how your friend grows more and more like my lord by day. It shouldn't surprise you at all that she's adapted to riding with us like a bird to flying. (Speaking of birds: I was expecting a great many more sparrows than the number she brought with her. Now I have to question everything you've ever written me about, wondering which were facts and which were exaggerations. You see the trouble you cause me?)_

_I heard about your new knight-mistress. If you're still alive by the time this reaches you, my sincere condolences. Think of it as a character-building experience. _

_Must go for now; sorry for brevity. Capt. F has been keeping us hopping chasing spidrens. Give Jessa, Uncle Baird, Aunt W etc. my love. Your loving cousin,_

_Dom._

And that, Neal thought, rather chagrined, was the trouble with writing to soldiers. They so rarely wrote satisfactory letters. They always claimed to be "kept hopping" by their superiors, but it was true often enough that Neal couldn't fault the excuse.

Well. Maybe he should follow Alanna's advice and accept that his life would soon take on that frenetic pace. Better to take advantage of slow and joyful moments when he could. Better to write the most gregarious letter he could, just to show Dom that Neal not only survived under Alanna's guidance—he thrived.

Smiling just a little, Neal sharpened a quill, dipped it, and began to draft a reply.

* * *

A/N: As you can see, I am shamelessly hopping on the "Dom's and Neal's letters are mostly raving about Kel" headcanon wagon.

One of my pet peeves in Tortall fanfiction is the way so many people write George as this unsophisticated rube who always speaks with a Lower City accent, even though the Trickster books specifically mention how the Lower-City cant is a veneer for him by then: "His lower-class speech was gone, shed with his identity as a buyer of slaves." IMHO, George wouldn't have survived at Court if he spoke like a thief (if he'd tried, I imagine the results would have been something like the beginning of _My Fair Lady_); he strikes me as one who easily adapts to the level of discourse of their surroundings, and so I think he would have had to adopt proper, patrician speech in order to fit in among all the nobles and scholars. Since most of his interactions in this chapter are with Neal, a high-ranking noble heir that George doesn't know very well yet, I figured George would stick to formal speech, which is what you see here.


End file.
